The Crown Comes First
by valafatoren
Summary: Jonathan's tired and he doesn't want to be dealing with an irate Thayet. Especially when she asks a question that will only end with heartbreak. Written for Rachy in the Goldenlake Secret Admirer Exchange.


**To:** Rachy  
 **Message:** Surprise and happy belated Valentine's Day! Uh, so...I wrote a tragedy. I don't think it's what you had in mind, and it certainly wasn't what I wanted, but I hope you like it anyway. Sorry for the complete out-of-characterness of it all and just whatever monster it became (and the wannabe metaphors).  
 **From:** valafatoren

 **Title:** The Crown Comes First  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Word Count:** 1527  
 **Propmt:** #2 Jon/Thayet or Contes in general - The Crown comes first  
 **Summary:** Jon's tired and an irate Thayet is not what he wants to deal with. Especially when she confronts him with a question that will only end in heartbreak. **Warnings:** it's very sad?

* * *

"Where have you been?" Her voice was soft and melodic as always, but had a hard edge to it that only occurred when Thayet was displeased. Jon gulped down the last of his wine from the goblet and looked at his wife, elegantly lounging on the spacious bed, peach nightgown billowing in the light breeze that flitted through the open window. He grunted and kicked off his boots, the hard clink of the metal sole hitting the marble floor bouncing around the room.

"Busy." He made his way to his dresser and began pulling out his night-clothes. Hearing the rustle of fabric, he knew Thayet had risen from the bed to stand beside him.

There was a long, breathy sigh that hinted of annoyance and vexation. "Jon, you're always busy. You come home late at night, when I'm already asleep and wake before dawn to go to your office. I barely get to see you anymore. There's always something on, you have to attend to this tournament, deal with this issue."

"A man has priorities," he said, a barely discernible (but there all the same) tone of irritation creeping into his voice. He was exhausted and frankly, he didn't feel like dealing with his wife bugging him about her problems. His head had started spinning, and it was becoming pretty tiresome. He clutched the edge of the drawer tightly, as a wave of wooziness washed over him. His head rolled back and his eyes disconnected for a second. The throbbing, and a light burning sensation in his skull became more noticeable as she began speaking again and he almost growled with the frustration and pain.

"Jon, shouldn't I be somewhere near the top of that list," she persisted, "Can't you at least spend a little time with me, or your children?"

No reply. The silence was palpable, turbulent energy racing around the room, between them, frenzied lightning like gleeful children waiting, _knowing,_ the worst of the storm was to come - and exulting in it.

Jon knew it too. This was not a problem that could be shoved into the fully occupied drawer which he usually kept them. But he could sense it, magic or no, this was not going to end well. The storm would rain.

"I don't have any time," his voice was firm, unyielding. Bitingly harsh, and he almost regretted it when he saw the hurt that flickered in Thayet's face, before it was replaced with aggrieved roll of the eyes and a huff of exasperation. There – all thoughts of regret gone. Being a King didn't leave you much time for should-haves.

"Jon," Thayet gritted her teeth, strangling all the insufferably self-obsessed and obstinate Conté princes in her mind out of existence. "You can. You do have the time. If you would just…"

"No I don't!" he said, sapphire eyes glinting furiously, slamming his hand down on the table with finality. He took a step forward, his imposing figure dominating hers, but she held her ground, chin high, eyes shining, giving him the uneasy feeling that she was looking down upon him, calculating and dismissing any power his height had over her. His head throbbed once more and he took a small stumble back, hoping that Thayet hadn't seen the movement and would just _stop talking._ His mind hurt, his magic was depleted and a skittish healer nervous about serving the King would just make it worse.

"I know what it is," her eyes narrowed, piercing into his skin, making him fell the need to squirm uncomfortably. That was not right – he was the ruler of this place, and _damn_ if he was going to give up his pride. Jon straightened his back and stiffened his shoulders. "It's obvious why you're so busy. Ever since this whole thing started, you haven't been acting yourself," Thayet spat out furiously, slamming her hand down on the table beside his, the other jerking his chin up so he met her stony gaze, "You're totally obsessed with it, spend every waking hour taking about it, even in bed. In bed! How long can this gods-forsaken debate go on for?"

The crackling energy surrounding them became brighter, sparking little bolts that only lit more and danced maliciously in front of his eyes, making his vision blur and head spin.

"It's not just a debate," his low voice growled back, steely blue eyes meeting spitfire hazel, "It's a bloody snakepit of politics between us and Tusaiane. You're acting as if you want another war on your hands! I don't know about you, but the Kingdom can't take another one and since I'm the bloody King I have to do everything in the Kingdom's best interest." Arms thrown up, he took a few sharp strides away, turning his back. Oh, he was in for it now. His wife was famed for her beauty and regarded around court as being a woman of reason and kindness, but he had seen her mad enough times to know that when she was, she tried her very hardest to rival Alanna in being a spitfire that burned anyone who dared incur her wrath.

"Well, _do_ you want another war?" he teased, but the tone fell flat and nothing but humorous.

Taking the taunt as he knew she would, Thayet went after him, her usual smooth glide giving way to angry stomp – no, she was too dignified for that – stalk across the marble floor. "Ugh! You're impossible to reason with," Thayet spat at his back, eyes shining with indignation, "You know I don't want another war, I care about the Kingdom too. I am the Queen, just so you know, since that one-tracked space in your head you called a brain seemed to forget that! All I ask is that you spend a little more time with your children and a little more time with me, instead of moping around in your office all day."

"I. Do. Not. Mope," his jaw clenched at her words, and he swallowed down the rising fury…though barely, as he looked down to see clenched fists creasing his red tunic. He inhaled deeply. Releasing the fabric, he wiped his sweaty palms on the material, smoothing out the crinkles.

"Well the way I see it," she said imperiously, suddenly as haughty as any other noble courtier, "Is that you're too damn obsessed about the Crown and that's all you ever cared about." Jon recoiled, and spun around to look at her in shock, pained that she would actually think that of him.

"Thayet!" The King was lost for words, full lips stumbling as coherency slipped away, "Of course that's not true. I care about you, do you think for a second I would never have married you if I didn't? I love you. I will love you my entire life. Don't, don't say that," Jon reached out a soothing hand, distressed for once, but she danced away, just out of his reach.

"I love you," she said softly, "But I have to know. Who comes first? Me – or the crown?" she said, at first looking shocked that she had actually said it aloud, and when he didn't reply straight away, an almost scared light (or was that a tear?) came into her eyes. Her lip trembled. Was he really that cruel, that much of a heartless monster? The answer came.

Lightning bolts of anger and argument fell flat and droopy, turning into heavy, saturated clouds that wobbled like her lower lip and threatened to spill like her eyes.

Unable to bear it, Jon turned his face away so she couldn't see the pain and the regret written all over his face but it was too late. Thayet had seen the answer deep in his eyes. The fierce feeling of remorse, but the deep-seated resignation.

"Oh," she tried so hard to get her voice to hold a tone of iciness but it wobbled, and as it did, his heart tugged painfully, and then screamed and split as she took a step away, away. "So there it is," she breathed, a soft, unbelieving breath that was an eye with a tear teetering on the edge, "The truth. The Crown comes first."

A sharp intake. She hadn't wanted to believe it, had hoped with all her heart, but no, but there it was. She should have known, should never had asked. She knew he loved her, loved her _so_ much but it just wasn't enough. Wasn't as much. Ignorance was bliss, and she a fool for not believing that.

The tear fell.

The eye welled again.

More followed, a searing line streaking down her cheek. And the storm cried, the heart fell and there was no stopping the downpour.

Thayet stumbled back to the bed, clutching the railing like it was a lifeline, confusion but mostly hurt and resignation too, the knowledge that Jon with all his Conté stubbornness would never change, showing in her eyes, the small 'o' of her mouth.

And what could Jon do? For there it was, the saddest truth, and he could do naught to dispute it.

For despite his fierce love, the Crown came first, and it always would.

 _Fin._


End file.
